Dancing around the subject of Minerva and Fortuna
by Dollybelleol'whatserface
Summary: Any red-blooded-or blue-blooded or green-blooded male would love a Minerva-gram". A line from The Stone Rose. On the morning of the events of Army of Ghosts the Doctor and Rose discuss dancing, the Economic Crash and Minerva-grams


Dancing around the subject of Minerva and Fortuna

**Disclaimer:** RTD owns all. Or do we have to credit The Moff, now? Oh, and I suppose I should mention Jacqueline Rayner, because it's all from _The Stone Rose._

**Author's Note: **The line about Minerva-grams from _The Stone Rose _has been niggling away at me for a while. So has the deleted scene from Doomsday when the Doctor and Rose walk away from the TARDIS holding hands, and then in the episode commentary Billie Piper mentions that the jumper she wore in that episode got fluff everywhere; this is the result. Don't take it too seriously; just let me know if you like it. :)

* * *

Weird; the sort of random, unconnected stuff that pops up in your head when you're not thinking of anything in particular. Last night, as she had been doing her teeth, an old memory of herself, and her mates Keisha and Shareen flicking dried paint at each other and making rude shapes out of clay during Art in year eight, had floated unannounced across her mind's eye.

Somehow, that had _then_ led Rose to remember that she'd once lent Shareen _About a Boy_, and she still hadn't returned it. Several years later.

This morning, though, as she carried a loose carton of milk (she hadn't seen any point in getting a plastic bag, really-not at 30p each!) back from a small corner shop in the middle of Stratford, she found her thoughts straying to the Doctor.

After yesterday, and all the excitement with the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics and the Isolus on Dame Kelly Holmes Close, the TARDIS had locked back on to the previous coordinates when Rose had with dismay, discovered that the milk had run out…meaning neither the Doctor nor Rose could have their usual morning cup of tea, and neither of them functioned particularly well without it.

Even though the Doctor insisted that he didn't need sleep; he still wasn't a morning person; wandering around the TARDIS' corridors, muttering with his hair all up like a haystack, often still wearing the same, (yet even more crumpled, if that were possible) suit from the day before. Though never his tie. Goodness knows what he did with it, but he was never wearing his tie when Rose shuffled through into the kitchen in the mornings.

As for Rose. Well, she was like a peroxide zombie for at least half an hour after she woke up; giving one-word answers and attempting to put the butter back into the oven rather than the fridge.

So, whilst the Doctor had grumbled and tutted like a small child, Rose had wedged on her trainers with a sigh and had obliged by nipping along to a small family-run shop a couple of streets away from where the Olympic Torch had passed through yesterday. It was the sort of shop that sold everything from floor-cleaner to quick-fix birthday cards that smelt of spices and newspapers.

Seeing a tall, quietly-humming fridge well-stocked with _Dr. Pepper_, _Red Bull, Oasis_ and_ Nesquick_ milkshakes just inside the doorway Rose had picked up a litre carton of milk and was handing over a two-pound coin, (she'd nearly fallen over when the old man had named the price!) when something the Doctor had said in Ancient Rome had dribbled through into her consciousness.

"_Any red-blooded-or blue-blooded, or green-blooded male would love a Minerva-gram."_

Rose had blinked, feeling her cheeks grow warm and stared down at the cracks and stains on the pale green plastic counter to distract herself.

Why on earth was she remembering that when buying milk? Freud would have some sort of clever answer, no doubt, but then…he was just a weirdo.

It wasn't even that significant, really. Maybe the TARDIS had been fiddling with her mind waves…

She'd been dressed as the Goddess Minerva at the time, having been turned back from a stone statue only moments before, and had been despairing at the state of her outfit, and how ridiculous she had felt. The Doctor had tried to cheer her up by pointing out that it would go down great at parties, and that she could be a Minerva-gram if she wanted.

Imagine applying for _that_ down at the Job Centre on Thursday mornings.

She hadn't really given the Doctor's words much thought. Neither had he, probably. He tended to prattle on a bit, didn't he? Bless him.

"What kind of parties has _he _been going to?" she had muttered to herself in jolting surprise as she left the shop.

At what kind of parties did people dress up as Roman Goddesses? And more importantly, why hadn't she been to any? Sounded like a _right_ laugh, it did.

She walked back to the TARDIS, very slowly, in a sort of daydream, lost in her thoughts. Surreal as they were. See, this was where not having a cup of tea got her. Loony Land.

'Any red, blue or green-blooded male would love a Minerva-gram,' he'd said.

Yeah. Whatever. A Kylie-gram, maybe. A Madonna-gram in the days before she started looking like a packet of mince? Minerva, though? Nah…

Actually, on this subject…what colour blood did the Doctor _have_, anyway? Rose chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she crossed the road.

She couldn't think of a time when she'd seen the Doctor bleed. Not really. She must have done, though; surely? And she would have remembered the shock she would no doubtedly have felt if he had been glooping green or blue stuff all over the place.

She could only conclude, then, that the Doctor must have the same colour blood as her. It wasn't something they'd ever discussed, funnily enough; the colour of the Doctor's blood. They'd never quite been that bored.

Rose turned into the street where the TARDIS was standing, the pavement and gutter still littered with streamers, paper plates and cans from last night's street celebrations.

Oh, and when he said 'red-blooded', did he mean _red_-blooded or well…_red-blooded_?

'Cause '_red-blooded_' had connotations to it, didn't it? It meant…you know.

Men, who, to nick a metaphor the Doctor had once used; liked 'dancing.' A lot. Like Mickey's mate Vic, she cringed to herself.

But the Doctor wasn't particularly sex-driven. Flirty, (well he _could_ be…at times. Like yesterday with his 'Are you _deducting_?'…thing) and charming, yeah, but he was hardly Captain Jack, was he? That man could make an innuendo out of anything.

Had that been the Doctor's point, though? That whether sex-driven or not, all men would secretly like a Minerva-gram? Or just blood colour in general; males with red, blue or green _pigmented _blood would find it a bit of a lark if some bint dressed up as a Goddess?

Either way, he was still including himself in that bracket.

The Doctor; last of the Time Lords, who had saved the world with a Satsuma and had last night lit the Olympic fire, wanted a Minerva-gram…

Well, maybe.

Rose tittered and rolled her eyes at herself as she reached the TARDIS and unlocked the door. That's it. She'd gone completely bonkers.

"S'just me!" she called out, walking through the door wielding the carton of milk like a Dairy Warrior Queen. Milk Maniac.

Frowning as she found the control room empty; the low, contented humming of the TARDIS around her was her only greeting. She stood still as the central pillar and listened for signs of life with her head tilted to the side. Clanking. Tinkering…the _Wicked_ soundtrack maybe. He'd shown a certain fondness for that quite recently. Didn't quite know what to make of that.

"Hello, 'just you'" came the Doctor's eventual reply from somewhere which sounded like the kitchen. Oh dear.

He was probably trying to make himself some breakfast, she reasoned, wondering idly if she should therefore take the fire extinguisher in with her. Just in case.

"You know," she said, trying to keep the indignation from her voice as she marched into the kitchen. "They're charging _thirty _pence for carrier bags now, and a litre of milk costs two quid? What's up with that?"

The Doctor, who was perched on the bench beside the kettle like an over-grown bench elf, calmly chewing an icing-slathered, ball bearing-dotted cake, looked up as she walked in and tried to arrange his features into what he hoped was an outraged expression. One which wasn't very convincing.

"_Have_ they?"

He sounded like Blanche from _Coronation Street._

"Yeah, they have," said Rose unsmilingly as she put the milk down on the bench beside him.

The Doctor swiveled round on his bum so that he was still facing her, as she got down two cups from the cupboard.

"And do _you_ know," he said conversationally. "That when you walk in moaning like an old woman, _probably_ called Edna complaining that she's been given the wrong shape of stamp in the Post Office, about the price of things…that you sound exactly like your mother?"

Rose's head snapped round and she glared at him. "I don't!"

"Do-oo," he retorted in a sing-song voice. "Economic Crash."

Rose stared at him. He did this a lot. Just said random words and sentences and expected her to follow. Like that time when he had started blabbering on about sellotape at that Ian Drury concert. She'd accused him of talking nonsense. He'd dismissed her as being blonde.

"What?"

"The Economic Crash," he repeated simply. When Rose continued to look at him as if he'd just announced that he wanted to adopt a baby Slitheen and teach it to ice-skate, he tutted and flicked the paper bun-case from his cake at her.

"You _said_ 'What's up with that.' What's up with plastic bags costing thirty pence, and I'm _telling_ you it's the Economic Crash," he said slowly, over-enunciating everything as if he were talking to a toddler. "And the environment. Always the environment." he added as an after thought.

Rose came and stood in front of him, leaning against the kitchen island with her arms crossed. "What Economic Crash?"

Haha! He couldn't make fun of her for not knowing enough history 'cause it was 2012 outside so it hadn't _happened_ for her yet. Future history. Ohh no; that made her head hurt. C'mon then, she thought triumphantly. Spill the beans.

The Doctor shrugged nonchalantly and swallowed a mouthful of cake.

"In late 2009 the economy of the world completely crashed. Bang. Whack. Boom. Biggest financial slump since the Wall Street Crash."

He said all of this as cheery as you like, as if they were discussing bananas and not, say…something major.

"So when it happens…act surprised," he warned her. "We can't have you going round telling…"

"I won't," she assured him. "I don't get anything about the economy, and shares and that."

She didn't. Didn't do politics at school. Didn't know how stocks worked. Didn't pay attention during history when the teacher had droned on about the Wall Street Crash. All she could remember was seeing a picture of children using stacks of bank notes as building blocks.

Had it stopped her from saving the world? From preserving history a million and three times?

No, so he could stop looking at her like that, thanks very much.

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly and evidently decided that it would be far easier to keep quiet. Still, he shot her a despairing glance or two. Or three.

"What's this, then?" said Rose flippantly, changing the subject and gesturing at the half-eaten cake in the Doctor's hands. If she didn't know any better…she'd hazard a guess that it was a cake from last night, and she wouldn't have put it past him that he'd managed to sneak a handful into his pockets.

The Doctor grinned down at his little cake, as if admiring a favourite pet, though with any luck, he wouldn't name it 'Arthur,' before looking up at Rose severely.

"You should never skip breakfast," he said loftily, wagging a finger at her.

"Wasn't plannin' to," she replied lightly. "But, unlike you…I was gonna have somethin' _normal_, like toast or somethin'," she said, mock-superiorly. "Not _cake_."

She grinned at him and pushed herself off the island, to lean past him to put the kettle on. She was startled, but no less pleased to feel the Doctor's arms go around her and she was pulled into a sweet, spontaneous hug.

"What's this for?" she asked delightedly, with a laugh as she reached up and gently wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"You tell me!" he replied back, in her ear, sounding just as surprised as she did. "You were the one trying to hug me!"

Rose stiffened, frowning as she considered this.

_Oh_

She laughed. "I wasn't trying to _hug_ you," she said with a giggle. "I was puttin' the kettle on!"

Honestly, what was he like? Holding her hand yesterday when she'd just been pointing…mistaking her putting the kettle on as a hug. Awh!

Adorable.

"Oi! I wasn't complainin'! Put 'em back!" she scolded him, jokingly and clinging on to him as he attempted to let go of her, mumbling embarrassedly. She felt him still, and do as he was told, his hands at her back once more.

Still laughing, she dug her chin into his shoulder and they fell into a companionable silence.

Mmh.

Must be uncomfortable for him, though. Still sat on the bench; bending over to be able to hug her. He'd put his back out if he wasn't careful, and wouldn't that be fun? Hobbling round the universe on crutches and living off prune juice and mashed potato. He'd call her 'Nurse,' probably; just to make a nuisance of himself and to annoy her.

The Doctor and his Nurse. Pfft.

"Doc-tor?" she said wonderingly after a moment, her tone rising and becoming a bit whinier at the end, like an inquisitive child about to ask a daft question for the millionth time. She was being childish on purpose. And he knew it. 'Cause he chuckled.

"Ye-ah?" he said, copying her whine. Copy cat.

How old were they? Nine hundred and two, and twenty-nearly-twenty-one, respectively and they still carried on with each other like children. Well it was the Doctor's fault. He started it.

"What colour blood you got?" she asked him shyly, not unaware of how absurd she sounded. She smiled into her words, cheeks flushing, feeling embarrassed.

"Red," he answered promptly. "Well, red-ish," he reasoned, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully and letting go of her. "Rusty-coloured?" he offered hopefully, wrinkling his nose. "Tomato-red? Nah…more crimson," he said ponderingly. He stared off into space; genuinely keen to give her an accurate answer.

All right, I don't need a _Dulux_ colour gauge, she thought, with barely concealed amusement. Should have known he'd be like this. She didn't actually _know_ why she was bringing this up in the first place. She'd have to go the whole hog and explain her Minerva-gram curiosities now...Oh well. In for a penny.

"Why d'you ask?" he asked interestedly, peering down at her.

Rose sighed, leaning back against the island again. "Just…wonderin'," she said dubiously. "Thinkin' about somethin' when I was out gettin' the milk."

I''m going to pretend I wasn't imaginin' you wantin' a Minerva-gram, she thought to herself sternly. At all. Ever. So the mental pictures could toodle off now…cheers.

"Yeah?" challenged the Doctor with an expectant smile, mirroring her as he jumped down from the bench to lean against it instead, hands resting behind him. "What?"

Rose couldn't keep the smirk off her face. It was if it had been splodged there with super-glue.

"_Min_erva-grams," she said, as innocently as she could, emphasizing the 'min.'

The Doctor's hand slipped on the bench, and he tried to wipe the look of astonishment off his face. Too late. She'd seen him. Gaping like a fish. A pinstriped fish.

"Minerva-grams?"

Nope, definitely hadn't imagined the squeak to his voice, there.

"Minerva-grams, yeah," she confirmed. She frowned as she watched the Doctor rummage in his pockets and bring out his Sonic Screwdriver and yet another cake from last night. He put the cake on the bench carefully, like a pathologist about to do a post-mortem.

"What you doin'?" she asked curiously, looking at him, as if he'd gone slightly mad. He was a bit fruit-loops to begin with, though, in fairness.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at her, suspiciously.

"I'm just _checking_," he said authoritatively, giving the cake a quick buzz with his Sonic Screwdriver. "That there's nothing in here that could cause weird side-effects in humans," he said dryly, looking at her as if he feared that she would suddenly combust.

Somehow, Rose knew immediately that he was just messing, and grinned at him, tongue peeking through her teeth, hands on her hips.

"Nope," he diagnosed brightly, switching the Sonic Screwdriver off with a flourish. "Just you being typically strange. _Strange_, Rose Tyler!" he repeated, reaching over to her and carefully pulling down the delicate skin beneath her eyes, pretending to examine her pupils. "You're a very strange pink and yellow woman."

Rose grabbed his wrists, playfully, his hands still resting lightly on her cheeks.

"So are you," she countered cheekily. "I learnt from the best…strangest…whatever."

"Me?" echoed the Doctor, shaking his hands out of her grasp and pretending to be highly affronted. Like that old middle-aged woman from Vienna that she'd mistakenly congratulated on being pregnant. She hadn't been pregnant at all. She'd just been a bit fat…and not even the Doctor had been able to talk them out of _that_ one.

Nice prisons, they had in eighteenth century Vienna. Lots of rats. The Doctor had named seven after the Von Trapp children. Gretyl had even attempted to give her the plague…

"I'm not _strange_!" he protested, his voice going high like it often did when he was wound up and whiny. "I'm as _mad as a hatter_," he corrected, with a manic smile, his eyes lighting up and dancing, as if to prove his point.

Well, Rose certainly wasn't going to argue with that.

"But," he said sharply, looking serious again, and he tapped Rose's arm to ensure she was paying attention. Satisfied that she was, and looking at him, he continued. "Last time I checked, I wasn't a woman," he said slyly, wiggling his eyebrows at her, voice low.

Oh yeah; that's right. Be pedantic, just for the sake of it, thought Rose wryly, realising her mistake in that she'd said 'So are you' in response to him calling her a 'strange pink and yellow woman.'

Right…getting back to the subject.

"Good," said Rose briskly, picking up the cake and pushing it out of his reach. Less of a distraction, that way.

"You can tell me why men like Minerva-grams, then," she said pointedly, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at him furtively, as if she'd simply asked him what time it was.

The Doctor gaped at her. For the first time in…well, a _very_ long time, he seemed slightly…speechless.

Not like him to keep quiet, was it?

He mouthed soundlessly at her, and Rose pursed her lips to hide her metre-wide smile. Maybe it would be better if she elaborated before he swallowed his tongue. Still; it was funny.

Question: How do you make the man with the biggest gob in the universe keep quiet?

Answer: Minerva-gram.

"Just 'cause when we were in Ancient Rome, yeah? When that Shrek-man turned me into a stone statue of Minerva…you said that the outfit'd go down great at parties _and _that every red, blue and green-blooded male would love a Minerva-gram," she reminded him casually, fiddling with a strand of hair.

It was as if this bore no importance to her whatsoever. Couldn't be more disinterested if she tried.

"Err…so I did," said the Doctor awkwardly, rubbing his eye uncomfortably. He looked around wildly for his cake, as if needing something to occupy his mind, but at the same timed seemed a bit…anxious. That Rose appeared to be able to remember everything he had ever said. Even his most drivelsome nonsense. 'Drivelsome.' Was that a word? Oh well; it should be. S'a good word.

Rose couldn't help but notice that the Doctor was trying to slide inconspicuously down the bench; trying to put as much distance between himself and Rose as possible. First time for everything, yeah?

Rose edged closer to him.

"So?" she prompted, with a cat-like smile. A cat who had most definitely got the creamiest of cream. And quite possibly, a _Mars Bar_. Not that she was finding winding the Doctor up funny or anything…

Funnier than watching Mrs. Doyle from _Father Ted_ trying to get down from the windowsill, it was.

"So, what?" he answered, in what he evidently thought was an airy, non-committal tone. Rose may have been taken in had he not sounded like he'd been happily sucking on a helium balloon for the past ten minutes.

"D'_you_ want a Minerva-gram?" she asked off-handedly, like one of those women who stand in the middle of the High Street with trays of samples for fish fingers or pizzas or whatever and breathlessly ask if you 'Want to try?'

"_And_," she continued, seeing that the Doctor had swallowed nervously. "More importantly…_Why_ would you want one?"

Rose looked at him as if she'd just asked him the meaning of Life. All ears. Well, not as much as his previous self but listening closely. Far more intently than she ever had at school. Wouldn't be hard though, really, would it?

The Doctor stared down at her, eyes slightly unfocused, just like they had been on Krop Tor when she'd told him that he'd have to get a mortgage.

"Well." His voice came out raspy and so he cleared his throat loudly, looking as if he was having trouble remembering how his respiratory system worked.

"Well, that's all by the by, really isn't it?" he gabbled. "Because the TARDIS hasn't got a letterbox ergo a Minerva-gram wouldn't be able to fit through. Nor would a Minerva-gram be able to walk through the _door_ either," he carried on obstinately; destroying Rose's counter-argument before she could even suggest it. "Because I would bolt the door."

Rose raised her eyebrows; unimpressed. He was dodging the question.

"But…but," he stuttered, quailing under Rose's gaze. "I _suppose_," he mused. "You could use Minerva-grams for educational purposes. History lectures! How brilliant would that be? You could just _waltz_ into a museum and when you get to the Roman exhibition…. look there's Minerva, telling you all about their central heating. You'd have no need for those info-phones!"

Rose blinked; surprised at how quickly he'd changed his tone. He'd gone from a 'I'm-going-to-die-of-discomfort' level of embarrassment to positively hopping about Minerva-grams in museums….

Make your mind up! Right. Major teasing time.

"I _kept_ the whole Minerva get-up, you know," she remarked breezily, staring down at her bitten fingernails, as if merely mentioning a point of interest. "Shoved it under A for Ancient; cross-referenced it with G for Goddess, and M for Minerva."

The Doctor looked like a mortified twelve-year-old boy, who had been told that they'd be doing a double Biology lesson on…ahem; Reproduction.

"Did you?"

Rose nodded, wondering why on Earth she'd chosen to tell him _that._ "Just…you know…in case you needed it. Not that I'm suggesting anything!" she said quickly, putting her hands up, cheeks going faintly pink.

"I mean…," she waved a hand at the Doctor, who was bumbling along, nodding like a dog on a dashboard, evidently desperate for this conversation to finish. "You look fine in a suit."

The Doctor paled as it dawned on him what Rose had been implying.

"But…but…I…don't."

Rose smirked and ignored him as she put two tea bags in their cups, standing waiting on the bench, as they had been for ages and poured boiling water onto them. She looked over her shoulder mischievously at him. He looked as if he'd had a slap off her mum.

"So you'd like a Minerva-gram?" tried Rose impishly, passing his cup of tea to him.

"Yeah," he said vaguely, not listening, looking into the contents of his cup as if staring down into a cloudy lake. Like Mr. Darcy…just _foxier_. Cassandra's words. Not hers.

"What?!" he yelped, looking up at her with a start, suddenly realising what he'd just said. "No!! I didn't mean…"

Rose smiled pointedly and took a dignified sip of her tea.

Letting him mutter to himself shame-facedly about tea, cakes, milk and Romans, Rose rolled her eyes and went to stand in front of him.

She put her cup of tea down on the bench behind him, and the Doctor looked, up, like a child who had had his ice-cream taken off him when she removed his from his hands, too.

He shoved his hands in his pockets from habit, and looked at her warily, though his body language was open; challenging, even.

_Then_, something crossed over his face; a flicker; a dawn of realisation. She'd been teasing him. All that about Minerva-grams, making him uncomfortable. Rose Tyler; wind-up merchant. Well, two could tease..

"These _parties_…with Minerva-grams," said Rose tentatively, not liking the enlightened look on his face. He'd caught on.

Oops.

"Yeah?" said the Doctor, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, taking half a step towards her.

"Was there lots of dancin'?" she asked quietly, the wind going out of her teasing-sails.

Oh. _Now_ she'd done it.

If the Doctor was surprised at her question, or taken aback, or confused of uncomfortable, or any other synonyms Rose would have expected of him, he didn't show it, though there _was_ a small, charged silence between them…

"Dancing?" repeated the Doctor, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if she'd piqued his interest. Well and truly.

"That depends," he said smoothly, and very slowly, he took his hands from his pockets and took hold of both of Rose's hands.

Rose breathed in softly, watching him. Her eyes flickered down to their joined hands and she bit her lower lip.

Oi! No turning of tables!

He could stop _this_ for a start. She was the one teasing _him _thank you, and she felt distinctly…flushed. Tea. Blame tea. Tea was hot. And flustery. Again; another word which wasn't really a word but should be

Or maybe it was just the way he was looking at her.

"On what?" she challenged, raising her eyebrows at him, trying to sound defiant. She didn't think it came out right at all.

"On…_Lewis_," he said pointedly, with obvious amusement and Rose remembered her adopted name from yesterday. "What you mean by _dancing_?"

The Doctor winked at her and slipped a very light hand to her waist. So light that she could barely feel it; it seemed as if he was reluctant to touch her quite so…well…like that.

"Because," he carried on, still with that maddening amused tone to his voice, as if he knew something she didn't. He leaned in cautiously and said in her ear. "There's dancing…and then there's _dancing_."

Oh, come on.

"I wouldn't know," said Rose weakly.

"No, I don't suppose you would," he agreed with a laugh.

"_Dancing_," he explained, dropping her hands and bouncing from side-to-side in what Rose recognised as the 'Chandler Dance' from _Friends_.

Now she really _had _seen everything.

"Of all the dances to…!" she exclaimed, squealing in laughter and shaking her head at him. Oh God…what did he look like?

"And _dancing_," he concluded, picking up her hands again and twirling her round so fast that she felt dizzy and whirling her into an energetic waltz. He finished, like some sort of twinkle-toed _Strictly come Dancing_ contestant, by dipping her.

Who did he think he was? Anton du Whoever??? Hmm?

Rose shrieked and went into a fit of laughter as the blood rushed to her head and he brought her back up, grinning away to himself, proudly. Evidently pleased that he hadn't dropped her on her head, or anything.

She would have decked him if he had.

"You didn't get my arm up my back," she congratulated him, once her laughter had subsided and he held onto her to stop her from losing her balance.

He had the last time, she remembered. The last him. 'Forgot' how to dance, apparently. This Doctor certainly knew how to, though. You know…from what she'd seen.

"No, I didn't," he murmured, giving her his best 'Aren't-I-just-brilliant?' look; all intense brown eyes and smiling mouth…

And he was far too close to her to be looking at her like that. So close, she could almost count the freckles on his nose.

Just a bit closer...

Shakily, Rose let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and let go of him, straightening down her jumper, where it had ridden up slightly, feeling acutely embarrassed.

The Doctor, too, shuffled awkwardly and they both stared at the floor, as they always did whenever they went a bit too…far.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them and Rose fiddled with the cuff of her jumper self-consciously.

She thought about picking up her cup of tea, just for want of something to do to break the tension…but the Doctor was in the way.

"Rose Tyler, you seem to have covered me in fluff," remarked the Doctor in a mock-disapproving tone, brushing bits of blue fluff from his arms and front, evidently trying to ease the tension between them.

And it worked.

"It's this jumper," insisted Rose, smiling guiltily. "It just molts everywhere!"

Forgetting their shared awkward moment, she dusted down his jacket, trying to get most of it off. Didn't work.

She spotted a large blue clump of fluff on his chest and picked it off, gently.

"I think I'll leave it at home after this. Need to go home anyway. M'running out of clean clothes," she chattered, still picking off bits of fluff.

Laundry talk. Brilliant. Riveting. Seriously though, she needed to get her stuff washed. And 2012 Stratford wasn't _too_ far away from 2006 London, was it? Hop, skip and a jump, really.

"Well, according to a reliable source," said the Doctor, looking down at his chest as he watched her de-fluff it. "There's a perfectly good Minerva 'get-up,' in the wardrobe," he informed her, mimicking her Cockney accent in the way he said 'get-up.'

"Though, I've always said that our mate Tiro was completely off his noggin to make you Minerva," he went on critically. "Goddess of War and Art? Pisssht. _You_," he said teasingly, stilling her hand on his chest and entwining her fingers with his own. "Can't draw to save your life, so that's Art out of the window and as for _War_," he tutted.

The Doctor regarded her and very gently held her cheek. "The Battle field's no place for you," he decreed softly, eyes determined and adamant.

Rose squeezed the hand that was holding hers tightly and didn't say anything; just looked at him. She didn't have anything sensible to say. Not really.

"Now _Fortuna_, on the other hand," enthused the Doctor, suddenly brightening considerably, beaming at her and dropping the hand that was cupping her face. "I like that much better. My Fortuna; that's you!"

Rose smiled at his reference. He'd said that to her before. Again, in Ancient Rome and he'd blabbered on about her being his lucky mascot. Like lucky pants.

_Ohhh_. He'd dropped her a hint as heavy as a hammer and she'd missed it.

His Fortuna. Not his Minerva.

"What about a Fortuna-gram, then?" blurted out Rose, before she could stop herself, before she'd even thought about what she was saying.

She blushed at the _look_ the Doctor gave her. He looked at her in the same way as he had done when she'd returned to the TARDIS after their ordeal on Krop Tor.

That was a 'Yeah', then.

The thing about Fortuna though; what had worried Rose when they'd returned from Ancient Rome, was that she sometimes wore a blinfold so she didn't know who she favoured. Sometimes she turned her back on those who relied on her.

But that was Fortuna. Rose knew who she favoured.

As for being blindfolded...well that was an idea and a half.

Smiling cheekily, tongue peeking through her teeth, Rose took her hand out of the Doctor's. She shook her head at his questioning glance to show that she wasn't about to start explaining anything and as gently as she could, she reached up and pressed her fingertips over the Doctor's eyelids, closing his eyes.

There. Blindfolded.

The Doctor's mouth curled up into an uncertain smile, oblivious to her intentions, but nevertheless going along with her, obediently.

Must trust her, then.

Mad as a hatter…

Still holding her hands over his eyes she stretched up and gently kissed his lips. It wasn't hard, overly wet and falsely passionate like her vague, disconnected memory of Cassandra kissing him using her body.

It was sweet. Affectionate. Undemanding.

It was for _him_.

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly as Rose let go of him. He smiled at her and trailed a hand down her arm before winking at her.

"Ta."

* * *

The thing about Time Lords, and the guarded, careful way they behave; keeping their emotions hidden beneath a heavy mask, is that it's easy to believe that they don't have the same…_desires_ and wishes as humans. That they choose to occupy themselves with the intellectual, and to repel more animalistic needs.

But that's not true. Not for a second.

All the manic lust, love, hate, resentment, contentment, greed, fear, bravery, need, deep-set longing and every other emotion that humans are capable of feeling…Time Lords are capable of that, too.

They're simply better at self-control; better at _compressing_ these emotions in a way that humans are unable.

Consider this. When a newborn human child is hungry, it cries; having no other way to express its wishes; no knowledge from experience. It demands food; craving it to be delivered instantaneously. Right then. Right there, and unless its parents are particularly harsh, their wish is usually adhered to. However, a fully-grown human adult has the knowledge from experience to know that, for example, in the middle of a Cabinet meeting with the PM is not the best time or place to demand a bacon sandwich, and so this human adult has the self-control to wait another three hours until the meeting has finished.

The difference lies in knowledge from experience and self-control. The difference between humans and Time Lords should be understood in a similar fashion.

On the other hand, it should be noted that Time Lords may choose to simply dismiss their self-control and act upon their more human-like impulses, which they normally hide, but are as equally capable of feeling as their admittedly inferior counterparts.

* * *

In short. To put it less delicately…

The Doctor gave in.

Because she was Rose Tyler…

* * *

"But…but….my _mum_. Home. Washing," protests Rose feebly between laughs, waving half-heartedly at the central column as he leads her through the control room from the kitchen with his arm around her.

"Your mum?" echoes the Doctor incredulously, as if marveling at how she could be preoccupied with something so…trivial. "Not sure she'd like a Fortuna-gram," he mutters under his breath.

"Later," he promises insincerely, like a teenager vowing to get up 'In a minute', then flopping back to sleep, but he presses a kiss to her forehead anyway.

" D'you promise?" wheedles Rose with a giggle as they walk down a corridor of the control room, her arm resting around his waist.

"No," replies the Doctor, honestly and pulling a face as if to say 'Really-what-did-you-expect-me-to-say?'

He gives a disgruntled 'Ow' as Rose prods him sharply in the ribs, but his inability to keep a straight face rather ruins the effect so then they snigger at each other and have a mini elbow war mid-walk.

"Where we going?" asks Rose in confusion, recognising a familiar patterned wallpaper and realising that she hasn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to where the Doctor has been taking them.

"To the Wardrobe," retorts the Doctor simply, a wickedly mischievous glint in his eye. He takes her hand and pulls her down the corridor after him. "C'mon, Fortuna."

*

As they flit through the Wardrobe from A to F, with the Doctor flirtatiously whispering about Fortuna-grams, dancing and ridiculous fluffy jumpers, his breath tickling her ear, Rose finds out exactly what colour blood the Doctor has got.

And the Time Lord dances with his Fortuna.

* * *

**Author's Note:** 2008's finished! What a year!

Gwen got married; we lost Tosh and Owen; Donna Noble jumped on board the TARDIS with her hat boxes; Martha got engaged; the Doctor found himself a daughter; Rose came back; we got TWO Doctors; the Doctor finished his sentence from BWB and (finally) kissed Rose;a Transformer popped up in the Christmas Special(disappointing, disappointing, disappointing) Russell T Davies announced he's leaving, Billie Piper had her baby annnd David Tennant confirmed he's handing over the TARDIS key (personally, I hope it's to Chiwitel Ejiofor but meh...) Dunno how 2009 can top that, but we'll just have to wait and see! Happy New Year!


End file.
